


Chapter 26 1/2: Nightmare in Devon

by aspeninthesunlight



Series: A Year As Severus Lived It [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AYLNO Side Story, Gen, Nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-06
Updated: 2005-08-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23274436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspeninthesunlight/pseuds/aspeninthesunlight
Summary: This standalone story, part of the Year Like None Other universe, takes place during Chapter 26 (“Burning”) of Year. The events happen after Severus rescues Harry on Samhain but before their return to Hogwarts later in that chapter. It fills in some of the blanks that Year leaves. Year had to leave things blank, as Harry was largely unconscious throughout this period. Now, however, we will see matters as Severus lived them.Giving credit where credit is due: This story is Mercredi’s brainchild. Some of you may remember Mercredi; she’s my fantastic beta for A Year Like None Other. A lot of the best ideas in that fic are hers. For this story, she dreamed up (lol) the concept of Snape having a nightmare in Devon and sent me a draft, after which we collaborated to refine the dream and add the narrative that precedes and follows it.About Samhain: See the notes after the story for information on why we are posting this story on November 6.And now… I do hope you all enjoy this excursion into Severus’ experiences during A Year Like None Other. Reviews are very welcome indeed.
Series: A Year As Severus Lived It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673629
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Chapter 26 1/2: Nightmare in Devon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Year Like None Other](https://archiveofourown.org/works/742072) by [aspeninthesunlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspeninthesunlight/pseuds/aspeninthesunlight). 



Nightmare in Devon

By Mercredi & Aspen in the Sunlight

Severus Snape was unaccustomed to sharing a bed. In fact, the very concept of relaxing into slumber in the presence of another person had always filled him with trepidation. And yet, after nearly two days nights and days of struggling to heal Harry Potter's brutally wounded body, the Potions Master was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Unlike Severus, Harry hadn’t once been truly conscious since escaping the horrific Death Eater ritual on Samhain. Just as well. Harry didn't care much for Apparation at the best of times, and it was frankly a mercy that he remained so deeply plunged into slumber as Severus sought to treat his myriad injuries.

How soon until they could return to Hogwarts, until he could have a proper Potions laboratory at his disposal? The boy needed specialized treatments, Potions tailored specifically to his indeterminate magical state, and it just wasn't possible to brew them correctly with the limited resources Severus had available in his Devon cottage. True, Albus had been Apparating in several times each day, bringing anything Severus asked for, but the Potions Master still longed for the comfort of more familiar surroundings.

Would they even be able to return? Albus had said that Death Eaters were still swarming the grounds; more than one had been caught sneaking into the castle proper, looking for Harry, looking to return him to the Dark Lord, this time to be killed at once, without ceremony.

Or perhaps they were looking for Draco. The reward Lucius had offered for his son's death was formidable. Not for the first time, Severus wondered just what was going on in his absence. Albus had visited the cottage with wild tales of Draco turning himself in, begging for sanctuary, of Draco offering Harry Potter's wand as a surety of his sincerity. The mere thought boggled the mind, but the Slytherin boy had stuck to his story through every interrogation technique the Aurors had thought to throw at him.

Of course, with Albus nearby, the Aurors no doubt hadn't done their worst; Severus knew from experience just how... enthusiastic some of them could get. Still, could it be that there was hope for Draco Malfoy yet? Severus had despaired for years of opening that child's eyes to the grim reality of serving the Dark Lord. Necessity... and prudence... had him always couching his warnings in language so vague and impartial that it all but missed the point. As Draco had missed the point, year after year after year.

But now... perhaps he'd seen the truth: life as a Death Eater held no glory and no power. Those were reserved to the Dark Lord alone, while his minions suffered pain and torture and utter humiliation. Of course life as an enemy of the Dark Lord held no safety either. Severus frowned. He’d become somewhat complacent where Draco had been concerned; as long as the Malfoy heir had been too young to serve either side, he had been safe. But now ….

Returning his attention to the boy with him, the one in his arms, Severus shifted slightly and gauged Harry's reaction. A breath catching on teeth, a weak convulsion shuddering through an abused body. Severus needed to extricate his right arm from underneath the boy, but Harry moaned pitiably when he attempted it. Not just pain, that moan; it was a sound of loss. Severus ceased his efforts to adjust his position. Even so, he wondered why such a gentle protest could so move him. When did comforting the distraught, pain-wracked boy become fundamental to his peace of mind? No matter. Fingers tingling with lost circulation was a small sacrifice to make.

Severus looked down at Harry again, his dark eyes bleak with concern. Was this the savior of wizardkind, then? Blinded, broken... ah, but the boy wasn't broken, was he? His body might be damaged, but that could surely be repaired. The most important part of Harry remained intact. His spirit. He'd cried and screamed when the pain had grown too much; in that, he was human. But this small, brave, Gryffindor hadn't begged, not once, and neither had he let his mental defenses slip, not even for an instant. Such gifted Occlumency. How could have ever thought the boy a burden to teach? If only last year he’d seen past his anger with James – how different would things be now?

Now. Now, Harry was helpless, utterly drained after that outpouring of wild magic, but he had Severus to help him. The Potions Master had been propping Harry up to feed him oatmeal laced with honey. Before groggily finishing half the bowl, Harry had fallen deeply asleep, leaving his caretaker gently pinned to the transfigured bed.

The position was far from comfortable, but at least it afforded Severus valuable information: the feel of Harry’s shallow breathing and the rapid but steady thrumming of his heart. Severus flexed his numb fingers, brushing the charmed fleece blanket that lightly cocooned the injured teenager. He knew regret that he hadn't gotten his other arm pinned in such a manner. Perhaps it would have gone numb enough to dull the softly burning throb from his hated Dark Mark.

At present, the pain was more of a mental blow than a physical one. After the powerful blast of dark magic that Harry had unleashed at the Death Eater meeting, Severus had kindled a tiny spark of hope that perhaps the Dark Lord had been vanquished. His Mark had been dead, utterly dead. Like him... or so Severus had hoped.

A futile hope, for after a time his Mark had begun to tingle... then ache. Severus couldn’t even be sure exactly when the burning had started. Those first hours flew by in such a frenzied blur of panic and horror – struggling to stop profuse bleeding in a wizard whose exhausted magic had him half-rejecting healing spells.

In the end, the healer had resorted to Muggle remedies, and Severus had been forced to hold Harry's wrist completely still as Marjygold stitched it closed. The irony wasn't lost on Severus that he’d had a harder time keeping his composure then than when he’d held Harry down to be pierced by needles for the Dark Lord’s pleasure. But during the latter, he'd been playing a role, hiding his true thoughts deep inside a calming sea, forcing himself to be the Death Eater the Dark Lord would expect.

Now, all that was gone forever and he was left with a truth so stark it was actually painful to accept. He could barely endure the sight of this boy's agony.

And agony was indeed the correct term. He could have never guessed how powerful simple slivers of metal could be. Pinpricks... but when those needles had been plunged into delicate tissues and left to fester, when they'd chipped bone and severed tendons... the wounds were pinpricks no more. Taking a deep breath, Severus mentally prepared himself to apply the latest batch of Harry’s potions. He brushed his free fingers against the poultice covering they boy’s mangled eyes. Still damp. Time then to let the boy rest undisturbed for a little longer.

Time to let himself rest, too... if relaxation were truly possible. Albus and Marjygold had both offered to tend the potions and watch over Harry so that Severus could sleep, but the former Death Eater would have none of it. He’d been arguing that with Albus, shooing the elderly Headmaster away from his ingredients when he first noticed the subtle pain ghosting up his arm. At first he’d thought, he’d hoped, that he’d just imagined it. But he couldn’t lie to himself for long. The pain was weak, but steadily growing. Steadily growing and constant. Insidiously constant. There was no denying that the Dark Lord was alive if not well.

There was no denying that he was gathering strength, hour past hour.

Thinking about it only served to make the pain sharper, so Severus sought to float above the sensation and lose the throbbing in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He trailed his fingers against Harry’s neck, assessing the boy's condition. The fever was back down; he should get up and tend the fire before Harry began shivering again. The room had grown too cold while he spent time feeding Harry. He must get up and tend to that. He would. He should tell the boy more stories. Those seemed to relax and comfort him, daft as that sounded. Harry couldn't hear him, could he? No, he was too far from true consciousness. He'd tend the fire in a moment, and then he'd come back and cradle the boy, and tell him about the little potion maker who fell into his own cauldron. But first, he'd just close his eyes for a moment. Harry was resting, and so could Severus … just for a few minutes….

The cottage in Devon dissolved around him as Severus fell into another place, another time, as phantoms of the recent past stole forth to haunt Severus' dreams.

Such horrid dreams....

Cold night. The grass is stiff under his feet. Severus suppresses a shiver. Funny how despite all its powerful magic, Death Eater garb is so useless. It makes his face sweat under the mask though the cloak does nothing to ward against the November chill.

He glances around; so very dark tonight... and yet he sees clear as day. So many Death Eaters. A shiver of fear zings down his spine, making every cell prickle with adrenaline. Must melt into the crowd. Why am I standing out in the clearing where I draw attention to myself? And yet, he’s powerless to move despite willing himself into the crowd. Just as well, I might need to slip away at some point to check the cauldron.

No, not cauldron. Harry! Harry is his paramount concern! How had he not noticed him there before? Damn invisibility cloak. Albus should never have given it to him. How can he watch over him if he keeps disappearing?

But he’s there now, in the middle of the circle. Lucius has him. He looks like he’d fall down if not for the grip. Lucius isn’t wearing his mask or hood – his hair is shining white in the moonlight. Is there a moon out tonight? Severus views the scene from the perspective of the sky, then realizes he’s not wearing his Death Eater garb, after all. Panic again. Where is his mask? He needs the mask or Harry will see him! But Harry already knows, doesn’t he? Ah, but if he had the mask on Harry would forget and the Dark Lord wouldn’t pry it all from his mind.

The Dark Lord. Severus doesn’t look at him. If I look at him, he'll know everything. Must concentrate on Harry instead. But he can't. Needles glisten in the moonlight, needles in Lucius' hand. Vicious needles, conjured out of hate. Needles meant to hurt.

I can't let Harry be hurt. I can't, I can't.

But he does. He moves forward and holds the boy in place for Lucius, holds him with a grip no sixteen-year-old could hope to break.

When Lucius starts in with the needles, Severus can hardly endure it, but Harry only winces and whimpers and first. Good, Harry, don’t scream. Think fire. Think water. Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Severus pretends as well. Push it all beneath the water, Harry.

But then the screams start. Severus never knew... you can hear screaming even underwater.

Everything within Severus screams along with Harry. Beneath the waves, he howls and begs not to be doing this, but his hands are petrified into place. He grips the boy’s skinny body tight enough to leave bruises.

“Careful, Snivellus," a hateful voice calls. "You're leaving fingerprints, aren't you? The Aurors will sense those and you know where you’ll end up then.”

Sirius! He looks toward the voice. There he is, hidden among the sea of Death Eaters, a ghostly form half-snarling as usual. James and Lily are there, too. What were the Golden Gryffindors doing here? Albus probably won’t even give them detention for showing up and putting him in danger with their idiotic heroics. And where’s Lupin? Is the moon full? Maybe he’s off being a werewolf.

Severus winces. He shouldn't have spilled that potion. He should have finished the new batch. The potion is important. Is that what’s in the cauldron over there by the trees? He can smell it... but it's not the Wolfsbane. This is different. Smells like oatmeal. But no, it's not oatmeal; it’s something important. He must watch it; mustn’t let it burn or it’ll all be ruined. And Harry really needs it...

Harry! How can he keep forgetting him? He's slipping too far under the water and it has to stop! He’s supposed to save Harry. The boy needs him. The boy is nothing like he thought. The boy is brave and strong and vulnerable and weak all at once. The boy hates him, has always hated him, will only hate him worse if he survives all this. But none of that matters, not now.

Severus was supposed to keep him safe and look at what it's come to. He countercursed that hexed broom. He destroyed the Serpensortia snake. He made sure his cabinet was full of Gillyweed for the boy to steal. So why is he pinning him to the ground, just watching as Lucius plunges yet another needle deep through skin and muscle and bone? A wail rises up to choke Severus, but he shoves it under the water.

No, not water, blood. The blood is everywhere. Harry's blood, weeping from a million tiny wounds to soak the hard ground. Severus almost flinches. Where are his gloves? Must be careful; if he lets the blood touch him the Dark Lord will know it's all a ruse. Does Harry know, though? Sweet Merlin, Harry! He's keeping himself awash in a sea of fire, protecting his secrets, protecting Severus. Cruciatus at fourteen, and now this. Why can't Severus ever manage to truly protect him as he needs, as Albus asked?

"Protect him, Severus."

James' voice that time, not haughty and hateful, not the taunting voice he heard year past year at school. A man's voice, calling from behind the crowd, a voice hoarse with urgency, filled with trust because it has no other choice. Protect him, Severus. A son is worth protecting, and he's got no one else.

But he can't protect Harry, can he, if he lets the blood touch him and the Dark Lord divines all there is to know. Frantic, Severus tugs at his own clothes to shield his hands. Then notices Harry's clothing and wonders.... where did the boy get this robe? It’s huge, sizes too big for a little boy. Those Muggles he lives with... they make him wear his cousin's cast-offs. But no, the Muggles didn't give him hand-me-downs in the form of a slightly old-fashioned wizard's robe bearing a Gryffindor crest.

Ah, that's it. He’s dressed in James’ old robe. Someone should get him a new one. Someone should care. He’s not James’ size at all; Harry’s just a little thing. The anguished face beneath him is that of a little boy.

“Quit asking me!” Harry suddenly screams. “I don’t know. It’s not my fault I was raised by Muggles. How am I supposed to know anything about your stupid potions?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Did he say that? He hadn't meant to, but it was certainly his voice. Severus looks up again. They’re no longer in the forest, but in the potions classroom. The students are all watching blankly. Harry is pinned to his desk with needles, holding him in place for the demonstration. Severus frowns. He doesn’t like doing this, but the children must learn to make the Dark Lord’s potion.

But this isn’t right! They’re not supposed to be in the classroom. And Harry’s not a first year anymore. He wills himself back to the forest. He looks down again at Harry, who’s sobbing; the tears flow down his face like rain. That must be why he thought he looked younger.

“It’s okay to cry,” he whispers to the boy, but Harry doesn't hear.

He looks up again. Why are they still here? James shouldn’t have brought Lily! Bad enough to see him torturing her baby but she’s a Muggle-born. James should know better. He locks eyes with Lily. Her green eyes are so intensely sad. Just like Harry’s. As if looking so sweet and lovely will protect them! Don’t move, Lily. If you stay completely still and don’t move a muscle, the Death Eaters won’t notice you.

Damn Black and Potter! What were they thinking wearing Quidditch robes to a Death Eater meeting? They just have to show off and call attention to us all, just like Lupin and his damned ice cream. Rage bubbles up within him. He wants to wipe the righteousness off their stupid Gryffindor faces. Suddenly he’s attacking them like a crazed animal. He lunges forward and bites; the flesh is so soft. He tastes blood and pulls away in horror. It’s Harry that he’s bitten. But there’s no gouge in his flesh. Just the hole in his cheek from the first needle.

“You rat bastard!” the boy accuses, his eyes flashing with rage.

Close your eyes, Harry! You mustn’t let them notice your eyes because they’re Lily’s eyes. The color of the killing curse, a reminder of what Lily did to the Dark Lord when she loved you so very well.

They'll kill your eyes, Harry, kill your eyes....

“And the sun went out and the world was plunged into darkness,” Nagini says clearly. The large snake slithers forward, tasting the blood in the air with her flicking tongue. But Nagini isn’t supposed to be Gryffindor colors. Damned snake. Damned snake who wanted ice cream who started this all!

“Lumos!” Draco shouts.

“Quiet, my Dragon,” Lucius murmurs.

Severus looks up to see the Dark Lord seated upon a throne made from skulls and bones. Draco is sitting at his feet, carving a Jack-o-lantern with a large gleaming knife. The blond boy is so small yet the blade is so large and shiny, that Severus sees his reflection in it though he’s very far away. “Lucius, take that away from him; he’ll hurt himself,” he whispers fiercely.

Lucius is too busy carving tortures into Harry. “Honestly, Severus. The house elves will look after him.”

Severus looks up again. Damn, Draco has seen him and he wasn’t meant to see him without his mask on. The blond boy looks up from his pumpkin and grins ear to ear as he waves a bloody hand. “Look what I made for you, Severus!”

The Dark Lord reaches down from his throne, his arm stretching snake-like from its sleeve, and pats the child’s head. “Don’t touch him!” Severus wants to shout.

“Good my child,” the Dark Lord hisses, “Save the eyes for last.”

Draco begins to carve the eyes, but he's not using a knife; he's using a needle. Of course, he used a needle to withdraw the marrow from the pumpkin. And now the pumpkin will have no magic. Severus almost cries.

Harry! Severus remembers The Boy Who Lived once again. How could he keep forgetting when he’s the one holding him down, the one whom Harry will despise, detest, disparage forevermore, worlds without end? But what does that matter? What matters is that Lucius is stabbing out Harry's eyes, now. And Severus is holding them open, prying back the lids. He notices how very green those eyes are with the pupils contracted down in fear – like pin points. How ironic. But no, no he’s not doing this. He’s not the one holding Harry. He couldn't be. He wouldn't. If he tried to save the boy all those times when he hated him, why would he hurt him now that he...

Anyway, how can he be the one holding Harry if he’s looking down at himself doing it? It must be someone else, someone using Polyjuice. Trust me, Harry, trust me. It isn't me.

But it is. He feels himself sicken as the needle plunges. His own throat feels raw, though Harry is the one who’s screaming. Severus can’t watch this anymore. He must force himself to wake up. Yes. Wake up. This isn’t real. This is a nightmare. None of this actually happened, not one single bit. Albus would never permit such horrors.

But he did permit Quirrell. And the Basilisk. And Dementors. And Crouch-as-Moody. And the Dark Lord himself, until the very end when Albus saved Harry at last. So where is Albus now? Isn’t he supposed to save Harry again? But maybe none of this is real.

“Of course it isn’t real, my boy,” the headmaster says. Is he talking to Severus or Harry? Hard to tell, though the old wizard is bent over Harry, trying to slip a piece of candy into the boy's slack mouth. Harry can’t see what it is, though. He’s blind. There’s blood all over his face. There’s blood everywhere. How will there even be enough left for the potion?

Albus slips a lemon sherbet past Harry's teeth. “Citrus, just like you like, Harry," he croons, stroking his hand through Harry's hair, through strands sodden with blood. "This will make it all better, you’ll see, my child, you'll see.”

He twists a ring upon his wizened finger, and taps his foot impatiently as he looks at Severus.

The ring, that's it! That’s the key to unlock the door that's trapped them here! Severus had forgotten it, but now he holds up his hand. It looks unchanged, but then the metal begins to heat. Burning hot – damn that disgusting Mark.

It’s ready, he can save Harry now, though in a way it's Harry saving himself. But that's all right. Harry is the one with the saving-people thing.

But it isn't over yet. Severus looks to where the sacrifice is to be made. Harry is secured limply to the stake, raised up on a dais, the magic still pouring off him though he seems bereft. Broken brooms for kindling. Below the dais is a slaughtered cow. How unusual. But wait! If he substitutes the cow’s blood for Harry’s in the potion it will kill the Dark Lord! He rushes forward to the cauldron. Time to stop it from burning. He reaches for it but it’s not a cauldron. It’s a bucket of pure, white milk. Must have come from the cow before they killed it. This is good. The milk will put out the flames and save Harry.

As soon as he’s thought it, they are both whisked away from the forest. They’re wet. Is it the milk? He looks up. No, it’s raining. Raining straight through the roof of his cottage, the one Albus keeps calling a shack. He looks down. You’d think so much rain would wash away the blood, but it seems to just make it worse. Frantically, he conjures bandages. Oh sweet Merlin, he must stop the bleeding! He can’t have gotten Harry away from the fire just to have him bleed to death in his arms.

Bandages and bandages. He uses them in wads – mustn’t get the blood on his hands. But the bandages aren’t working. Harry moans and weakly lifts his left hand. The one with the deep gash from the sacrificial knife. In desperation Severus grabs the spurting wound with his bare hands and squeezes it closed. The bleeding stops.

He sighs in relief for just a moment. But this was supposed to be a dream and yet here they are in Devon with him tending the broken boy’s wounds. It wasn’t a dream? Dear Merlin, no! It’s real. This really happened. Harry’s hurting and blind and not like James at all! And the Dark Lord knows about his magic, knows everything! How long can he keep him safe like this? The Dark Lord will find them. He’ll follow them somehow and he’ll do anything to kill Harry. He’ll burn he cottage down around them if he must. And suddenly, Severus feels the flames, the burning, searing heat engulfing them. Neither the rain or his rushing river can put this out. For the first time that night, he screams out loud.

Severus wakes screaming, coming to awareness in a world sharp with pain, his body constricting tightly around the frail boy cradled in his arms. Sensing the change even through his own dreams, Harry moans and struggles weakly in his sleep. Gasping, Severus releases him and pulls away from the bed, pain lancing through him. Pain, so much pain.

The Dark Mark is no longer a subtle throb or a hint of power. Now it is wave after wave of sharp agony, the Dark Lord's voice behind it taunting, "Severus... my Severus..."

When Harry begins to whimper softly, Severus wonders if his scar pains him as well. But no, the scar hasn't flared to life since Harry had his operation. This, now... it's merely the other pain.

Merely? Something inside Severus shrivels. He helped inflict that pain, hour past hour of it as Lucius plied his needles. Severus knows full well he had no choice; he did what was best; he did the only thing he could. But knowing doesn't make it easier, and it certainly won't make it easier for Harry. Maybe he should leave the boy now, leave before he scars him worse, leave before the boy wakes up screaming in agony that he hates Severus.

Harry's smart, Severus tells himself. I didn't used to see that, but he is. Surely he’ll realize I had no choice but to hold him down, but to let them... But no, no amount of reasoned argument will change the truth confronting Severus.

Pain is pain is pain, and Severus helped heap mountains of it on Harry.

Staggering, Severus backs away from the bed, away from Harry. He shoves up his sleeve and looks down at the Mark. It’s vivid even in the dim, flickering firelight. It ought to be glowing considering the intensity of the pain. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, Severus takes in quick gasps of air, struggling not to cry out loud again. So, the Dark Lord’s strength is returning once again.

Returning in full, returning in force.

It’s over, Severus thinks, bitter acid coating his tongue. This is the end of all. The Boy Who Lived may die yet thanks to Lupin and myself. My usefulness to the Order is no more. All I can look forward to is the Dark Lord’s slow, painful revenge. I’ve failed everyone. I've failed Harry.

The combination of pain and guilt sickening him, he leans on the table to remain standing. He wonders how long the Dark Lord can keep the pain flaring to this intensity. One shaking hand gropes its way among the potions ingredients until his right hand clutches a bone-handled knife. The smell of Harry’s blood is still strong in the room. Even with his blood-soaked robes spelled clean and the old bandages burned, the scent clings like the vestiges of his nightmare and fills him with revulsion. Even the potion fumes can't overpower it.

Damn, the potions. He must check them. Harry needs those potions, needs them made double, quadruple, sextuple strength to try to draw up some magic that might heal, might cure. Severus hadn’t meant to fall asleep, not when he was needed to tend Harry, to tend the potions. He looks down at the knife in his hand and tries to steady his ragged breathing. He glances at Harry and feels a surge of something that he decides to label strength. Or loyalty. But it's something else and he knows it. Think about that later. No use, not now. The boy will hate you and you can hardly blame him.

Severus plunges his feelings back beneath the flowing waters in his mind and sighs. He has a job to do.

He looks down at the knife gleaming in his hands. As always, he really has no other choice.

Fin

What matter though numb nightmare ride on top  
And blood and mire the sensitive body stain?  
What matter? Heave no sigh, let no tear drop,  
A greater, a more gracious time has gone....

William Butler Yeats (1865–1939), Irish poet, playwright. “The Gyres.”

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: We are posting this story on the anniversary of the Samhain during Harry’s 6th year. So when did Samhain fall in 1996? Depending on how you calculate it, it doesn't always fall on November 1 (or even on Halloween, a commonly held view). The information below comes to us courtesy of geomancy . org.
> 
> “Just Exactly When Is Samhain?  
> There are a number of different answers to this question. There are a number of different ways to determine this cross-quarter day. Among them:  
> ex) Half the number of days between the Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice this year (1996) is November 6th.  
> ex) Astrologically, the half-way point is Fifteen Degrees Scorpio is also on November 6th this year (1996).  
> Remember, there is no right date for these moveable feasts. It is a window in time. Which day resonates best with you? Go with your guts on the choice.”


End file.
